


--The World Catches Up

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [13]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Multi, general assholery, one specific Chantry Explosion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Errata to The Champion’s Tale, or what really happened when the Chantry exploded. Don’t listen to Varric.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris/Male Hawke
Series: Treats [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/622592
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This piece won’t make much sense without the whole mess behind it in the series. Or maybe it will? Basically, I wrote a one-shot where Hawke invites Anders to join him and Fenris for sex and games… and he accepts. This took some small alterations to the canon characters. Then these three showed up again and held my writing ability hostage unless I wrote their story first. This resulted in character growth or change that further altered the canon characters. I’ve been resisting (and busy) recently because… well, because this is where everything changes. 
> 
> Their story continues after this, but there’s not a lot of explicit-rated story for a while.
> 
> Additional note 7/23/20:  
> I've made this work the last of the Treats series... and the first of the Running from the Chantry series! The new tone doesn't fit Treats. Running will have much more yearning and angst, much less fucking. I also think that you could start here? if you are willing to start with the relationships as they are in chapter 1 of this work. The goal of this series is to resolve the emotional Fenders, one way or another... (I hope to eventually write a series set during the Inquisition, however Fenders resolves, but there's a lot of real life between now and then.)

## Fenris

Fenris paces his mansion. Brooding, Varric would say. He looks at everything along his path as if it might hold some clue or solution to the turmoil in his mind.

Something went horribly wrong last night. He’d gotten Anders safely to his clinic after a void-bitten fight against some Followers of She, only to have the clinic door slammed in his face. He’d pounded on the door, shouting Anders’ name, Fenris’ safeword, asking to be let in. He would not beg. He would not resort to insults or endearments. But he would ask. By the time he gave up and returned to Hawke, Hawke had blinked open red-rimmed eyes, and Fenris had wished he bore better news. Some reason Anders had left the way he did. Instead all he could do is tell Hawke that Anders made it home safe, then hold him and be held tightly all night.

Did Fenris really care for this asshole?

_How could Anders hurt Hawke like this?_

It hurt Fenris too, of course, but Anders was oblivious to that. Anders told Hawke about his love as easy as breathing, but he disregarded Fenris’ emotions… because he wasn’t aware of them.

Anders—or specifically, Justice—would betray them somehow, of course. Anders refused to let go of his cause, and a cause like that driven by a spirit could not end well. It hurt like a long needle through his chest to think it, but Fenris could not see a better way for this relationship to end than that Anders land in some illicit mage-rights trouble not even Varric could shield him from fast enough, and Fenris and Hawke only learn of it when they discovered that Anders was dead.

But until then, Fenris would like Anders to be a little less of an asshole. That was not going to happen, apparently, until Fenris told him why he was being an asshole. Fenris’ nature was far more subtle for this type of thing, but he’d learned from Hawke that sometimes Fereldens just don’t get it. Fenris stops pacing.

He sets out to find Anders.

## Anders

Anders sits very still, hands over his face, shutting out everything but the argument in his head.

_This is what matters,_ Justice insists. _This will stop the injustices I have witnessed ever since I met you. The injustices you have experienced your entire life. The wrongs every mage in the Gallows has experienced._

_This is the largest concern, I’ll grant you that,_ Anders replies. _But surely more than one thing can matter at a time?_

_Any life or family you could have with Hawke and the lyrium elf would be crushed by the Chantry,_ Justice points out.

Anders nods, internally, feeling only the crushing enormity of what they will accomplish. They’d worked it out, discussing details hypothetically with a wide range of mages with different experiences with the Chantry, but never telling the whole plan to anyone.

“The Circles will jump at the opportunity to rebel.”

“The success of a big attack will unite us.”

“It must be the Chantry, if it is to happen. They must know the source of our oppression.”

Anders holds to these kernels.

He looks up. The basement tunnels under the Chantry are abandoned, hidden, and unknown to all but a few, and those now dead by templar hands. The ceilings are strung with barrels and barrels of gaatlock, brewed according to a recipe Anders found in the aftermath of the Qunari uprising years ago and completed with the phosphorous and nitrates extracted from concentrated piss and dragon dung. Thanks to the dragons’ nature, it will look magical enough, but only a spark is needed to send Kirkwall’s Chantry Fadeward. Anders wonders how long spirits would be reenacting the events of today in the Fade.

_It’s unjust to kill everyone up there,_ Anders tries again, but only out of habit. _It’s wrong._

_We will mete justice to ourself, as well,_ Justice says once more. _We will die in the same explosion._

Anders nods. No, he won’t be leaving this room alive. He hears the voices of Orsino and Meredith through the strange tunnels under the city, and lights the fuses, staying where he can hear their conversation. He can’t decide whether it would be better if they enter the Chantry before the explosion or just witness it up close.

Then a divine joy overtakes him, the knowledge that injustices will be righted in all of Thedas because of his actions. He basks in this joy, barely paying attention to the argument Meredith and Orsino are having, until he hears Hawke’s voice.

_No. He cannot die. That would be unjust._

Anders stands. He sets out to find Hawke.

## Hawke

Something went very wrong last night, and Hawke is sure it was his fault. He didn’t ask all the right questions. He missed some cue. Yet as he goes over his memory, Anders was plainly asking for what they gave him. No one was expecting Justice to show up, of course, but it wasn’t the first time. Only the first time with Fenris. Only the first time Justice had stayed as Justice, instead of subsiding for Anders to continue their game.

Anders had said, “I didn’t come here for this.” Perhaps there had been some unspoken rule about Justice being involved? No, worse, it had been spoken, hadn’t it? Not for years, but Hawke had mentioned Justice watching their games, and Anders had indicated discomfort. What were the details? Hawke couldn’t remember.

Time to clarify that. They needed a serious conversation, probably put sex and play on hold for the night. Hawke could fix this.

And then they could plan their next evening. Maybe if he kept their interest with hot scenarios, he could keep this relationship going indefinitely. It had always felt like keeping too many plates in the air, but every day he was more attached to keeping the three of them together.

He sighed. He had other things to pay attention to, as well. His work continued in the House of Lords trying to collect the will to elect a new Coterie-friendly viscount, plus his duties as Champion—or more accurately, as public showpiece—meant that his work as Varric’s muscle took a backseat sometimes. He still kept his hand in—he maintained a Ferelden philosophy of nobility, after all—but they agreed that Hawke could do Varric more good as the backer of the next Viscount than as the man with wicked blades who showed up when Varric was displeased.

He had several letters, but one was open: an appointment to hear the latest loud, public disagreement between Orsino and Meredith. He would be a bit late, but Isabela once told him that it was fashionable. Besides, it would let them really sort out what the disagreement is before he arrives to solve it, if he can.

He considers who to take with him. Merrill had agreed she should stay well away from these arguments. He hadn’t seen Anders today, but that was fine, too. He needed anyone who might be able to back him up or sway the participants. He used Kirkwall’s strange communication system to ask Aveline, Varric, and Sebastian to join him at the Chantry.

Little did he know that the Chantry would soon become a beacon for all of his friends. They were, to a person, each the type to run towards trouble, not away from it.


	2. Festis bei umo canavarum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Festis bei umo canavarum" translates to "You will be the death of me." 
> 
> If you’ve played DA:2, you know exactly what happened in the space between these chapters. Otherwise, imagine Anders running out of the Chantry, riling up the leaders of the local mage and templar factions, and the Chantry exploding, taking parts of Kirkwall with it.

When Fenris arrives, Anders is already standing with his back to the burning Chantry, flames a little too red. It throws Anders into a dramatic light. Aveline gives Fenris details, but Fenris has long known this day was coming, or something like it. Fool mage. Fenris walks over to him anyway, passing Hawke, who still hasn’t picked his figurative jaw off the paving stones.

“Hawke was wrong, Fenris,” Anders says, only loud enough so Fenris can hear, maybe Hawke. “I don’t deserve him. Or any of our friends, really.”

Fenris approaches far too close, furious with him, yet grateful they’ve been allowed to choose his fate, according to Aveline’s briefing. Anders is a mage, yes, and driven by a demon. Yet. Something. Fenris considers. Welts from Fenris’ cane probably stripe the backs of Anders’ legs and ass from last night. Yet it’s more than that. Sex-induced affection? He’s been calling it that. Even if it were love, there’s still something bigger. What is it?

Fenris looks behind Anders to the ruin of the Chantry. He knows the full Chantry will barely feel this blow, but Fenris himself would do this or worse to the Magisterium if it weren’t for the Qunari. Who wouldn’t, who’s been hurt badly enough by something this big?

Anders is a mage driven by a spirit, but he’s also a man, driven by pain. And Fenris has been granted a little more time to figure out what that means to him, and to them.

“Tell me this doesn’t hurt Hawke,” Anders says, resigned. “I had no choice, and now neither do you.” Anders asks Fenris for death with voice and eyes, and Fenris’ heart breaks. “You warned me what you would do. If you don’t, they’ll think Hawke was part of it.”

“Not everyone gets what they deserve, Anders,” Fenris murmurs, touching his arm. At the mere touch, Anders staggers to a nearby box, and Fenris follows, standing before him, watching his back. Orsino hands Hawke a knife in the background, with words Fenris can’t hear. _He couldn’t. Not after all they’ve been through together._ Hawke’s face is a study in anger as he walks closer. Fenris glares at Hawke, stepping around Anders to stand between them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not”—Hawke tosses the knife away—“I am not going to kill him.”

“Huh,” Fenris says and turns to Varric. “Hawke killed Anders.”

“What? No, he didn’t,” Varric snaps, glancing behind Fenris to be sure. “Blondie’s right there. I hope you’re not thinking”—

“Yes he did! In fact, I insisted on it. Anders is dead. We _killed him_. The fucking betrayal, make the story good any way you like. Or better: Anders never was with us, romantically. It was always only Hawke and I. I was always too jealous to allow him to even date anyone else.”

“Gotcha,” Varric says, relaxing, forgiveness already given to Anders, whether the mage wants it or not. “We’ll work out the details later. Right now we have bigger problems.”

“Fasta vass.” Fenris turns to Anders, who is standing to face them again, eyes the size of small plates. “The fucking betrayal is an issue,” Fenris assures him, “but Varric is right. We have bigger problems.”

“No,” Anders says, glancing between them. “Hawke, you have to kill me. Fenris, surely you see it. I must die for what I’ve done.” Justice’s voice edges through in that last sentence.

Hawke takes a breath and says, “You don’t get to decide that, Anders. That’s part of justice.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that some things are worse than death?” Fenris says, and Anders’ eyes widen with horror. “You have to fucking live with the guilt.” Fenris can see that guilt, already taking over Anders’ expression. “Venhedis, Hawke, it’s going to tear him apart. It _would_ be a mercy to kill him.”

“Fenris?” Hawke says, sounding as uncertain as he’d ever heard him.

“No, I’m not saying—I’m saying ‘Anders, you _fucking_ idiot.’”

“I knew what I was doing.” Anders insists. “It was _worth_ it. I-I might do it again.”

“Shut up,” Fenris advises.

“So Anders lives,” Hawke says, as if that had only just now been decided. “Can we keep him safe from the templars? Maker’s breath, even the mages might aim for him.”

Anders sighs. “The free mages support me. If you don’t kill me, they’ll know you support me, too.”

“You told _them_ and not _us_?” Hawke lets some of the hurt weep through into his voice.

“No… not exactly,” Anders admits.

“All of them were rooting for open war?” Hawke gestures at a distant explosion.

“I… think they were?”

Fenris rolls his eyes. “Kaffas. Maybe if his robes weren’t quite so conspicuous.”

Anders says, “Says the man in Fog Warrior spikes.”

“Oh, a joke?” Fenris replies. “That’s cute. Shut up.”

Varric butts into their discussion. “Anders, as soon as we get to the Circle, change to Circle robes.”

Fenris can’t help a smile. “And one of those ridiculous hats.”

“The _hat_? Why?” Anders demands.

“Justice,” Varric quips.

“So no one recognizes your hair,” Hawke says at the same time.

“Yes.” Fenris nods. “Also so I can tease you later.”

Anders smiles weakly.

“Gentlemen,” says Zevran, and Fenris wonders where the _fuck_ he’s been the last few years, to show up now of all times. Bare-chested, no less, carrying the upper half of his leather armor. Fenris’ feet step without conscious input to place Fenris between Zevran and Hawke, protecting an entirely different interest.

“I believe I have a solution,” Zevran says, holding up his chest piece to Fenris like an offering.


	3. That's How I Want to Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this creative use of canon dialogue and imagine Varric in the background, recording and embellishing on the fly.

With the plan sketched out with Orsino, Hawke approaches Anders and Fenris. They’re arguing, because of course they are.

Hawke only catches the last line from Anders, “I’m not going to kill myself. I’ll accept Hawke’s judgment. And yours.”

As alarming as this is, it seems to settle the matter. Anders turns to Hawke.

“I should’ve trusted you,” he says with clear regret. “Even with all we’ve shared, I never thought you’d spare my life.

Fenris huffs a laugh. “And here I am about to defend Anders and these mages in a hopeless battle. You lead me to strange places, Hawke.”

Hawke smiles at Fenris. “I’ll take you to stranger places than this, just watch.”

Fenris smiles. “A tempting offer,” he admits, as if grudgingly. Hawke knows better.

Anders glances between them. “If we live through this… You both know I’ll be hunted. No one in Kirkwall will offer me mercy. But if you would join me, I’d rather be on the run with you two than safe with anyone else.”

“Clearly,” Fenris says.

Hawke smiles. “If we win this, I’ll kill anyone who tries to arrest you.”

Anders turns entirely to Hawke. “Kirkwall can’t change alone, love. Even if we win here, it will take years of open warfare throughout Thedas before mages could be safe. If you wish to stay with me, you must join me in that fight.”

“Of course we must,” Fenris snaps. “You can’t wait until we get through this to demand this of him? Of us? It has to be now?”

“Yes,” Anders says calmly, “I need to know now. Are you with me, or not?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Fenris says. “We’ll discuss the rest later.”

Anders turns back. “Hawke?”

Hawke considers. After defending the mages against Meredith, there will be nowhere any of them would be safe. “We will be fugitives together,” he assures Anders.

Anders relaxes then, saying, “Thank you, Hawke.”

Hawke reaches to place a hand on the back of Anders’ neck, perhaps pull him into a kiss, but Anders whispers, “Please, not here.”

And it hurts. He didn’t trust Hawke not to _kill_ him, they plan to _fight_ together against everything Anders hates, and Anders still can’t show affection in front of their friends.

“Anders, I need to discuss something with Hawke,” Fenris says. When Anders looks like he might argue, Fenris adds, “Something that does not have anything to do with your revolution, whatever your spirit might tell you,” and Anders subsides, stepping away to give them some nominal privacy.

“I… may not get the chance to say this again,” Fenris says. “Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke.” Fenris cradles Hawke’s head in one gauntleted hand to say, “Promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living without you.” He releases Hawke to hear his answer.

“I don’t plan on dying,” Hawke says, not quite daring to reach again.

“You’d better not,” Fenris says, and launches into Hawke’s arms, kissing him hard. What else can Hawke do but kiss back? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the showdown with Meredith, Hawke gets out of town.

Hawke’s armor is covered in drying blood. He’s had one _fuck_ of a day, starting with an explosion large enough to rock the city and spark an internal war, growing worse with one boyfriend betraying him but defended by the other, then sneaking Grand Enchanter Orsino out of town while Varric and Isabela invent an outrageous tale about his death, capped off by Meredith mobilizing the horrible slave statues, in which she’d been growing red lyrium for years, and then transforming into a statue of red lyrium herself. This must be what Varric means when he says truth is stranger than fiction.

After all that, Varric’s entire crew quickly agreed they’ll need to leave town for a while. They split up a quarter-hour ago, agreeing to meet at the docks and Isabela’s fairly-stolen ship. Anders says there’s nothing he wants at his place. The stop at Fenris’ mansion is quick. Now the three of them are staring up the stairs of Hawke’s estate.

Stairs that once led to his room and his dead mother’s room now lead to a wall of flames. He feels… nothing. Had he been asked his one fear, it would have been seeing his house aflame, but after a day like this he can only muse: One advantage to stone is that the fire spreads slower than it ever did in Ferelden’s villages at the start of the Blight, and the way to the kitchen is still clear. He’s glad they’d spotted Bodahn and Sandal leaving town on their way here. Bodahn had assured them Orana was safe.

“I’m sorry, Hawke.” Anders says. “I never thought…”

“You never thought anything through, mage,” Fenris says.

“Regretting sparing my life?” Anders snaps.

“Just because I don’t want to see you _dead_ , doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you,” Fenris points out. “I would punch you, but I suspect you have a glass jaw.”

“Biting me isn’t enough?” Anders demands.

“No fucking way I’m biting you tonight. There would be _blood_. Besides, none of us will be in the mood.”

Anders looks terribly confused, like… like he had confused sex and violence, when it came to Fenris. What did that mean for Hawke? All the times he’d made Anders writhe with that beautiful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hawke rubs his eyes, trying to pretend his chest isn’t crushing itself. “Let’s discuss this later, after we’re out of Kirkwall. Right now, we need to get food from the kitchens before they burn down.”

He takes a breath while his men head that direction. He’d thought Fenris had some piece of information Hawke hadn’t had, that Fenris knew that Anders was _innocent_. Because this couldn’t be happening. No, it could. It was. And it was all Hawke’s fault. If he hadn’t been spending his time on diverting _distractions_ … If he’d only gotten Anders some real _help_ … but from where? The templars would’ve killed him. No one else in Kirkwall knew anything about living with a spirit. Well. Time to leave Kirkwall and find out, because there was no place for any of them here.

To that end, Hawke digs out their old packs, borrowed years ago from the Ferelden army. He hands Carver’s old bag to Fenris and the one they’d borrowed for Bethany to Anders. They’re slack from disuse, yet still big and easy to carry, and they still have camping basics crammed in the bottom and pockets. They’d meant to keep the packs stocked as a precaution, but now it was just Hawke. The food had long been used and never replaced.

Well, plenty of everyday staples are lightweight enough and would keep for a long time. It was mostly Kirkwall foods in the kitchen, with some delicacies from Ferelden and Tevinter thrown in for when Hawke or Orana was feeling nostalgic. Or Fenris or Anders, Hawke realizes. He tries to suppress another twist in his chest.

Instead, Hawke thinks through their little band, minus Sebastian, who was half the reason they had to leave _now_. The dwarf who’d once had to leave home in a hurry, the Dalish who’d traveled all her life, the pirate, and the Ferelden soldier. All of them could choose road-worthy rations. They’ve all been on the run at some point.

Hawke’s triad starts loading their packs, watching each other to balance their needs without speaking. Lentils and dry beans, rice and oats, hard cheese, pickled vegetables, root crops, and a little fresh fruit. Fenris pointedly collects spices for his pack. Most of what they find will last far longer than it will take to eat it, but hopefully they can forage, purchase, or trade for fresh food to stretch the rations.

As they leave the kitchen, Hawke hefts his pack. Still room, and things are still standing out here. Now that they have the essentials, they might as well think about the future.

“Fenris, Anders, from my library pick two books each, plus the first book you find by Genetivi and that one book. The good one, with the dog in it.”

While they do that, Hawke digs a less distinctive set of armor out of the front hall chest and throws it on, stashing the Champion’s famous armor in his pack. He’d never have managed it without years of experience carting random armor around Kirkwall. He also tosses in a few extra weapons and his noble costume. Luckily, he recently sold the latest batch of random armor and weapons. He grabs the coin from that. He adds the potions he’d ordered a few days ago, now sitting on his desk from Lady Elegant. _With our luck, we’ll need them._

He also grabs his unopened letters and his writing kit, complete with the Hawke seal. _With my luck, I won’t need that._ Who would be safe to write? Will the seven of them have any reliable allies after this? He can’t answer that yet, so he packs the fear away with his anger at Anders. His mind brushes the word _betrayal_ and he flinches, at an end of his ability to control his reactions after… Hawke decides Meredith drawing the red lyrium idol Varric had been after for _years,_ reforged into a sword, was the point where he had entirely lost his chill.

As he turns toward the parlor, Anders and Fenris burst through the door, packs a little bulkier. “Got everything?” They nod. Anders had survived today in Zevran’s armor, a favor to a mutual friend, he’d said. Hawke tosses Fenris a cloak, completing their impromptu disguises.

“I really hope your library doesn’t burn, Hawke,” he says, catching the cloak.

“Me, too, Fen. We’ll see. Someday, we’ll come back and see.” It’s a promise to himself, too.


End file.
